Surviving  Alpine Desire in Alaska

Playing With Fire

by Eli Helmuth

Perched partway up the North Buttress of Mount Hunter, Majka Burhardt and I contemplated the vast and vertical terrain above, and now below us.   We had been waiting on the weather at the base of this mind-blowing wall for some days, sharpening and re-sharpening our tools.  But once the weather seemed to be done with it's rave, we wasted no time in dragging our haul bag and ropes over to the base of the buttress and first setting crampon on what is likely the longest and most sought after ice climb in the world:  The Moonflower.

I immediately visualized the fantastic ice and granite crux pitches ahead instead of noticing the water running under our front-points and the fact that we were wearing few clothes on a wall known for finger and toe numbing cold.  I was ready to forge ahead.  Majka on the other hand, was paying close attention to the water pooling in the elbows of her jacket, and she had a fresh perspective on alpinism that kept her from being overly influenced by the strength and perseverance of those who had preceded us up this great north wall.  I, the veteran Alaskan, was like a moth going to flame.

We shared water at the belay.  Majka tapped on the ice with her hammer.  "Sounds hollow", she said.  It wasn't a question, and I knew she was really asking me what I thought.  She would trust my answer.  There is a moment in every true partnership where you lay out your fears and look to the other for assurance, or to rectify them.  "Do you really think we should be up here?"

The moment she said it, I knew she was right.  Waking me from my ice-induced euphoria, I saw the bigger picture and with a look up at the hundreds of tons of snow and ice perched above our heads, I had a moment of clarity.  Although I had dreamed so many time of the "Shaft" crux ice pitch and then higher up to slip through the "Bibler come again exit" only to endure the long hard climb to the summit and back, I didn't want it bad enough to risk our lives.  Even though I knew this reality, I resented each V-thread we made and cursed the clouds that swallowed us as we descended.

At the base, I couldn't keep from looking up longingly at what was to have been our great Alaskan ascent.  "We were blowing it", was what my desire  was saying and I couldn't hide from my disappointment.  Normally, climbers have to live with a decision like this and hope that it was the right one- that fear or uncertainty didn't ruin their best hope of sending the route.  Us?  We had heartbreaking and gruesome validation.

 Already high-up on the same route, a veteran alpine team battled with their own dreams but instead, realized the nightmare.  While belaying one of the crux mixed pitches, Steve Mascioli was killed by a car-sized chunk of snow that, without warning, detached from the wall above him.  HIs parner, Alan Kearney, was then faced with an epic self-rescue and descent of more than 30 rappels alone.  When we met him at the base of the wall after watching the final part of his solo descent, I was faced with the pain of how it might have felt to the survivor of such a loss.

(This article originally appeared in the 2007 Black Diamond Mountain Catalog under the title "Getting Off".)